Heart of Glass
by Pale Treasures
Summary: Anna is an overjoyed new mother. But her happiness leads her to worry about Elsa. One shot.


**Disclaimer:** All Disney's, not mine.

**Rating: **K+

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**Heart of Glass**

It was the happiest day of her life. She hadn't believed it possible, when for the past year she had known more happiness and contentment – that perfect and rare feeling you get when everything's fallen into place – than she'd ever thought she would. But the day her little Ida was born, it was the happiest day of her life.

It left her in awe – and, frankly, a little scared too – that happiness such as this could exist. It wasn't the kind of thing she would have thought of in the past; she would have scarfed this happiness down eagerly, not doubted it for a second, and danced away with a high in her veins until she tired herself out and was forced to stop eventually from sheer exhaustion. Getting married, fully assuming her duties as a princess, the queen's sister, had sobered her exuberance just the tiniest bit. Most of all, it taught her to reflect, when before she would have only felt, giving herself no time and no mental space to do more.

It was impossible not to come to a halt now, not to contemplate this miracle as old as time, like so many new mothers had before. She stared at her perfect little daughter, at the silky, flaxen strands of her scarce hair, so light they were almost invisible, at the delicate pink hue of her skin, at her flawless little fingers and toes – all twenty of them – and couldn't help but feel a breathless, disbelieving ecstasy that such perfect, complete beauty could exist in this world, that it could spring intact from someone as unprepared and clumsy as she was. To think that it could happen to someone like _her_! – and that everything had gone well, and that now she was officially a mother, declared, somehow, by the great, mysterious beyond above and around her, fit to take this on!

No, it definitely still needed time to sink in. Not that she minded that. She had grown quite fond of turning the matter over and over in her mind, with her little girl slumbering in her arms, trying to make sense of something which defied understanding, because it was older than her, than everything.

Of course, she wasn't happy merely for herself. It touched her deeply to look at Kristoff holding their daughter with the same incredulous ecstasy as he had the day she was born, his hold on Ida so careful it was almost ungainly, because he was so afraid he might hurt her. They hadn't talked about it yet, but she thought this might be something that Kristoff had needed as well – this great event signaling that he was ready to be a father, that it could happen to him too, that he would excel at it. Already, from the moment she had first watched him holding their daughter, she'd had no doubt of it. She didn't feel saddened at all that Kristoff would love someone better than her from this day onward. She wouldn't have had it any other way.

However, what had ended up making her think the most, and feel grateful and sorrowful the most, all at once, had been seeing Elsa with her first niece. Even though Elsa had relaxed considerably in the past year or two, and excelled at her duties as queen without the old, breathless anxiety that dealing with her powers had entailed, she sensed that something about her older sister, something of old, would remain and never change. She perceived this by herself, because she knew Elsa would never speak of it, not even now.

Still, the matter wouldn't leave her mind – and the more she stared at her little girl, healthy and untainted and hers forever, the more it gnawed at her, turning into anxiety, then guilt.

Elsa was a constant visitor while she recuperated from giving birth, the most assiduous one after Kristoff. It was beginning to drive her a little crazy to sit still for so long, but whenever she tried to move, her body protested in extremely pointed ways and she remembered why she'd had to be confined to a bed in the first place. Still, she had books, and Kristoff faithfully related all that was going on in the outside world, from how well the kingdom's goods were faring in the market to Sven and Olaf's latest antics, and, of course, there was Ida to stare at for hours and hours – she would never get tired of _that_. Even when she cried, she was absolutely fascinated.

One afternoon, when she was dreamily staring outside the window, watching the first delicate signs of spring push through the remains of a resistant winter, Elsa knocked on the door to her room.

"Anna?" she whispered. "Are you asleep?"

She turned and smiled. "No, not asleep," she replied cheerfully. "Just daydreaming. Did you come to visit us?"

Elsa grinned and looked hopefully towards the huge, somewhat ugly crib, draped in silk and lace, where Ida currently slumbered. It had been the crib where both sisters had slept in when they were infants, but honestly, had it not been for tradition, Anna would have gone for something… well, _less_.

"_She's_ asleep now, but I bet she'll be thrilled to know you've dropped by to see her," she replied with an encouraging smile. Elsa smiled back and inched carefully towards the crib, peeling back the covers and gazing with touched enrapture at the rosy-cheeked, doll-like baby breathing steadily, oblivious to what was going on around her.

"She's perfect," Elsa declared softly.

"She is, isn't she?" Anna couldn't help but concur with besotted motherly pride.

Elsa nodded and looked up, smiling at her. Her smile touched her, but it also, somehow, made her want to cry. Given what she had been thinking of so persistently since Ida's birth, she couldn't help that feeling.

"Elsa," she began in a small voice, not quite knowing where to go to get to her point. It seemed like a pattern, by now, her irrepressible desire to speak when she had something important to share, but having no idea how to start. "I've been thinking."

"About what?" Elsa sat down before her, her eyes meeting hers with unfeigned interest. It made her feel worse. What if she hurt her sister's feelings? That was the last thing she wanted.

"About…" she chewed on her lip, thinking. "Something's been on my mind ever since I had Ida. Please don't be offended. I swear that's not what I mean by this. I…" she chewed on her lip again, harder this time. Elsa looked at her in concern, furrowing her brow. "It's just, that I've been so happy since I became a mother. I can't imagine anything more wonderful. I know that nothing else will make me as happy as I am now, with Ida, and Kristoff and you, and all of us living together. I'm so happy that I can't help feeling bad. It makes me think about other people more, especially… especially you." Something changed in Elsa's expression, and somehow she felt sure that her sister already knew what she was going to say. "Please, Elsa, don't be angry. I don't want to sound like I'm being condescending just because I have a child now. I'm doing this because having my baby made me realize how much I care about you, how much I worry." Gently, she held her sister's hand between her own. Elsa made no move to withdraw it. "It would break my heart to think that you're unhappy, Elsa, to think that maybe something is missing. I only wish there was some way you could know all this. I see how much you adore Ida; I… I hope that will happen to you too, someday. You'd be a wonderful mother, I know it, and a wonderful wife too."

Elsa's eyes were saddened as she listened, but, to Anna's surprise, she smiled. She squeezed her hand a little, gratefully. "I'm not angry, Anna. I understand why you'd feel this way, and you may not believe me, but I'm happy the way I am. We're so different, aren't we, we've always been; I always knew we wouldn't be happy in identical ways." That made Anna think; she hadn't considered that before. "I'm very happy to have you and Kristoff and now baby Ida living with me in the palace. That's all I need. I've been lonely and scared for so long, I've lacked a real family for so long, and now the three of you more than make up for all those years without it. The truth is…" She paused, and bit her lip unsurely. "Even if I wanted to, I'm not sure I'd _know_… how to behave, if someone was in love with me, or I with them. The thought feels so strange. I can't help but feel that the time for that has passed, you understand?" With a lump in her throat, Anna nodded. "And about my own children, well… I think I've always known that wasn't bound to happen. After everything I went through, I'm not sure I _want_ for that to happen. There's a very real possibility that my children might get my powers from me, and I don't want them to suffer and to struggle like I did. I don't them to hurt like that."

"But you could help them," Anna countered fervently, "you know how to control your powers, now, you know how unhappy you felt because of them, you're the perfect person to help them, the only one who could! They wouldn't feel the way you do, because you'll make sure that it never gets that far."

"Yes, but even so, I don't think I want to even consider they might go through something like that at all," Elsa replied mournfully. "Maybe it would be different for them; it might take them longer to get their powers under control; who knows, maybe they'd never completely master them, or they might be stronger than my own and I wouldn't know how to help them if I tried." Elsa's voice became more wistful the longer she spoke. "I have a good feeling about _your_ children, Anna. They'll be happy and normal and that's all I could ever ask for. I love Ida as my own, and I'm sure I'll love whoever comes after her just as much. You'll rule the kingdom after me, and Ida will rule after you. That's all there is, for me. That's all I need to be at peace."

Anna frowned, far from convinced, her eyes swimming with tears. "I can't bear to think that someday you might look at me and feel that something is missing in your life," she stammered.

Elsa hugged her, and it felt like she'd been waiting all her life – or at least, since the early years of her childhood – for a hug like that. She clung to her sister hungrily, soaking up comfort in her physical warmth and closeness in a way she had failed to obtain from her words.

She wouldn't say that Elsa was lying, or mistaken – she would be the first to admit that she didn't always understand her sister, and would not presume to claim she knew more about what she needed than Elsa herself – but she wished she could feel more at peace with her choices, the way Elsa did. Would that acceptance ever come for her? She knew she would be delighted to know that Elsa was in love, and that someone loved her back, and to see her nephews and nieces running around the palace's halls. If that wasn't in the cards for Elsa, she wouldn't love her less, or despair of her life – if anything, she would love her more, and fight never to make Elsa feel excluded from her own life and family. She knew Kristoff would do the same. It was all she could hope for; it was all she could do, to make sure that _she_ never pushed her sister away, or made her feel that horrible loneliness again.

"Thank you, Anna," Elsa whispered. And she hugged her a little tighter.

"I love you," she whispered back. Because that was the old, inevitable truth, and here she stood facing it yet again.

"I love you too." Elsa's lips gently touched her temple.

And so she made that vow, one she would only ever share with Kristoff in the days to come. If her sister derived happiness from her company and her family's, then she would make certain she would never lose that. And perhaps someday, Elsa might know just to what extent she loved her and wished her well – not suspecting, after all these years, that she was loved by her adored elder sister in the same manner, and would always have been, even in very different circumstances.


End file.
